


Loptr

by Virodeil



Series: Loptr, the Living Dead [2]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Drabble Series, Gen, Lost child found, Other, POV First Person, POV Laufey (Marvel), Slice of Life, stream-of-consciousness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28591827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virodeil/pseuds/Virodeil
Summary: A little sequel toThe Living Dead. Snippets of Laufey’s thoughts after getting their child back accidentally, suddenly and unexpectedly.
Relationships: Laufey (Marvel) & Loki (Marvel)
Series: Loptr, the Living Dead [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095050
Comments: 26
Kudos: 66





	1. The Tiny Boon

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies, but you have to have read _The Living Dead_ first if you wish to read this one and understand it. And, just as a reminder, Loki in this universe feels himself to be a mature 15/16-year-old (in comparison to a _medieval-culture_ human) mage-scholar-warrior, as dictated in Asgard, and in his æsir-like form he does look the part; however, to a jötun, he looks like a small 8/9-year-old (in comparison to a _modern-culture_ human) and behaves oddly – trying too hard to be mature before the time, most of all. _And_ , if you would like to see Laufey’s perspective/thoughts on a particular thing about their child, feel free to suggest it in the comment section or via e-mail. I do not know how many snippets I will manage for this universe before my own inspiration dries out, and suggestions will hopefully keep it going for at least a little while. Oh, and please read the chapter note before each chapter, as it will have pertinent notes that will act as background to Laufey's thoughts exposed in the respective chapter.  
> In any case, thank you for taking a gander on this story, and I hope you will enjoy it.  
> Rey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter runs concurrently with the end of _The Living Dead_.

Few things register in my mind, at present, and none more than the slight, ever-moving, ever-chattering weight held in my arm, attached to and half-encased by the flower of their namesake.

My child. My child. _My child_.

Small, but no longer tiny, let alone as minuscule as the day they were pushed out of my womb – far too early, far too traumatically for both parties, and through the wrong passage. Still wriggling, though, still flailing, and still squawking, like how I always dreamt they – _and their sibling_ – would do for treats or if their fun got interrupted, if I had been able to raise them – _the both of them_ – all the way.

Oh, Ýmir, _why_? Why not? Why could I not raise them _both_? Great Mother, why was this mother robbed so?

But the little one is here – my child, my child, _my child_ – albeit just half a twin, while I never expected even this boon….

Oh, Ýmir.


	2. Flitting Off with the Breeze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This musing happens some time after the last chapter, after a rather generous time skip, though still on Jötunheim.

Voðen ought not to have given the little one – whom they kidnapped _for whatever reason_ – the name Loki. _That_ flower is alarmingly apt for a namesake for this one – stubborn to a fault, able to break things so easily once rooted, worming their way deep….

But then, maybe I ought not to have named my _other_ little one so.

Am I a bad mother for being _relieved_ that one of my children is not here to wreak havoc alongside their other half? Even if it would imply that I am relieved that they are _dead_?

Then again, I ought not to have named _this one_ for a flower that goes with the wind so easily, perhaps.

Now, where has my Loptr-flower flitted off to?


	3. Into the Breach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter occurs on Asgard, in private, while Laufey is selectively concealed and in their human-like form.  
> Note on nicknaming: Loé = Loptr = Loki

I am not prepared to confront Voðen this soon.

Then again, I was not prepared to reunite with my Loptr-flower that time, when I thought I was going to participate in mourning the dead – mourning _them_.

Loé went to the place they were raised in – no, not _returned_ , never return, just a visit, _just_ a visit – and here I am, tailing after them, trying not to make it a pursuit or as though I were being dragged here and there by the little imp.

And _here_ Voðen is, also: staring wide-eyed at me, utterly caught off guard.

I glare back at them, with the fury of a righteously offended mother.

They flinch, before they can catch themself.

Somehow, it does not feel satisfying.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On timeline: This chapter follows right from the previous one.  
> On warning: There is a brief mention of forced marriage and its unspoken inplications.  
> On language: In Ýmska and in jötnar culture, addressing an elder/stranger/superior in second-person (“you”) in a conversation is considered terribly rude. However, one raised and living away from the language and customs may not think so.  
> On Loki: “Loé” is in warm-weathered form but now that of a child, no longer a young adult.  
> On age differences: To the jötnar, 1000-year-old is comparable to about 8-to-9-year-old compared to our standard, while 4000-year-old is comparably 21-year-old. To the æsir, the former is comparably 13-to-14-year-old while the latter is middle age.
> 
> List of term and nicknames used:  
> Bé: Bestla, Voðen’s mother, Laufey’s elder sibling  
> nar: parent-sibling, aunt/uncle  
> Úti: Farbauti, Laufey’s spouse  
> ýto: elder sibling/cousin (term of address placed before a name or standing on its own)

“I did not know – I thought you died! They were alone there and people said Týr–,” Voðen – the terribly rude brat – my sibling-child, unfortunately – cries in defence of themself, of their decision that robbed me of the entirety of my child’s earliest childhood, then cuts themself off with a hitch in their breath.

I can continue the sentence _perfectly well_ , myself. But I do not know – cannot even guess – whether they cut themself off just now for my sake (Ha! _My_ sake?!), because they inexplicably yet reserve some great emotion about it (What is it?), or because we are no longer alone.

Because Loé has just slipped into the room and stumbles to a stop not a step further, their own breath hitching.

I beckon them in and draw them into my arms, all without looking away from Voðen’s eyes – Ýto Bé’s eyes – now so foreign to me.

It has been centuries since I could last guess what Voðen was thinking or about to do by looking into their eyes.

Not since the last blow Asgard gave Ýmirheim.

Not since Voðen – my _only_ remaining sibling-child – _went to rule Asgard as the last eligible candidate_ , instead of forsaking the realm that had kidnapped their dam and forcefully married the latter to Bor.

They are clad in the form of an ás, even now; so much – _too much_ – like Bor, although with my sibling’s eyes, _although they used to visit Ýmirheim in their milaða forms_.

My heart _burns_.

But still, I keep looking into their eyes.

And I see a flicker deep in those eyes – anger? Jealousy? Hurt? Satisfaction? What might it be? – as I hoist Loé – still too small, still too light – into my arms, half into their view.

“I thought you died,” they repeat, before I can say anything – if I even _wish_ to say anything. As if repetition could make the statement true – without any omission, addition or misdirection….

But the flicker is back, now, stronger than ever, and different from the previous one.

And _this one_ , I have seen, just before we were parted all those centuries ago.

Just after they watched with their own eyes how Úti killed the no-longer-quite-sane Ýto Bé – Úti’s own childhood friend – for mercy, as the latter _requested_.

No, Voðen is _somehow_ telling the truth.

And they do change into a milaða’s warm-weathered form – so young, and so much like Ýto Bé, now – right in front of me – in front of _us_ – when I ask it of them, to Loé’s shocked and disbelieving gasp.

They are no longer in æsir garb, either.

And they murmur – an acknowledgement, a claim, a plea – “Nalla.”

Nalla: Their nickname of me that they blurted out the first moment we met, when they were a millennium old, three millennia ago, compressing “Nar Laufey” into one, as they boldly claimed in the way of children everywhere that it was too long and “tongue-twisty.”

My heart _squeezes_.

“Ðinyé,” I say at last, in return; my own nickname for them, which I gave them blithely in response to what they gave me that time – that much better time, despite all the trials and tribulations.

And, like that time, now we start again, right from the beginning.


End file.
